


Orange Lilies for Hatred

by CheyanneChika



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blacksmith Thorin, Blind Date, Florist Bilbo Baggins, Flowers, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-11 02:40:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19523548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheyanneChika/pseuds/CheyanneChika
Summary: Bilbo has a blind date he's distracting himself from when a stranger walks in and asks for a bouquet that says fuck you.





	Orange Lilies for Hatred

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt by _writersclub my friend linked. Detail in the bottom note so as not to give the story away.

It was supposed to be Bilbo’s day off. He was supposed to be at home, digging in his own garden (a whole block away) and being soothed and meditative in preparation for the fact that his mother and that blasted friend of hers, Gandalf, had set him up on a blind date. That was why his nephew was running the flower shop today with the paid assistance Sam and possibly the unpaid assistance of his cousins Merry and Pippin. So why was he here? 

The short answer was Merry and Pippin. They were less going to work and more bored and looking for socialization so decided to come “help out” every now and again. The last time they had been in the back of the shop, they’d set off the fire alarm smoking. While his plants had enjoyed the extra bath, he and the POS system had not.

Frodo heard him come in the back, grabbed him before he could put on a green apron and shoved him out to the customer’s side of the shop. “If you’re going to be here, uncle, it’s going to be over there.”

Under the counter, he was texting his mother to come entice Bilbo to a spot of elevensies and sent a message to Merry telling him and Pippin to stay away until noon.

Bilbo did not leave of his own accord, choosing to start straightening the already straightened shelves of cutesy stuffed animals, fake plants, potted plants and cardstock.

He was nearly done and Primula had replied that she was on her way when it happened. The man who came in looked painfully out of place, all broad-shouldered with long, dark hair and a thick beard, who was leathered from his fingerless gloves to his riding boots. He stalked up to the counter and looked down at Frodo who was wearing his fixed customer service smile. “Welcome to Belladonna’s, how can I help you today?”

The customer dropped a twenty in front of Frodo and said, “How do I say ‘fuck you’ in flower?”

Frodo blinked several times. “I’m sorry?”

The man took a deep breath. “Not, I’m sorry. Fuck you.”

Bilbo hastened over to them. He looked at the cash and hid some quick calculations. “Sam!” he called. The customer looked askance at him but Bilbo just grinned cheerfully. 

Sam appeared from the back. “Yes, Mr. Bilbo?”

“Run to my garden and fetch cuttings of the pink geraniums, and foxglove.” He paused and then added, “Does the meadow behind your father’s house still have meadowsweet?”

“Might do, I’ll check on my way.” Without any further comment, he dashed out the back. “Frodo, start the bouquet with a couple of yellow carnations and orange lilies.”

Frodo raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything, retreating to the back for the correct flowers. The customer was staring at him. “You know flowers?” he asked carefully. 

Bilbo smiled. “It’s my day off.” He stuck out a hand. “Bilbo Baggins.”

The man returned the grip. “Thorin Oakenshield. I, too, find it hard to leave my forge.”

Bilbo’s smile widened. “You’re a blacksmith?” At the gruff nod, Bilbo continued, “Swords or horseshoes?”

There was the slightest quirk of lip under the man’s thick beard. “Can’t it be both? Along with axes and plate armor.” 

“Plate armor?”

Thorin hesitated, watching as Frodo reappeared and began setting the flowers out for design once Sam returned. “Horseshoes and the like do well enough in the country but the Renaissance Faire outside of Bree suddenly makes tourists want to dress up like it’s the Third Age again.”

Bilbo chuckled. “I must admit I’ve sold flower crowns to them when theirs spoiled and the one time locusts got into the storeroom and ate everything.”

“They didn’t eat the metalwork.”

Bilbo laughed. It was a bright sound that made Frodo stiffen. How long had it been since he’d heard that joyous a sound from his uncle? If the blind date didn’t turn out, he hoped this guy would come back.

The back door slammed open and Sam appeared with a basket on his arm that was filled with flowers. “Meadowsweet in the meadow, sure enough, Mr. Bilbo.”

“Excellent,” Bilbo said brightly. “Frodo?”

The eyebrow returned. “You sure you don’t want to do it, Uncle?”

Bilbo laughed again. “It’s my day off. Go on, you’ll be fine.”

“What do they mean then, the flowers?” Thorin asked.

“The yellow carnations mean disappointment, orange lilies for hatred, foxglove for insincerity, be careful with that one as it’s fair poisonous, geraniums for stupidity and the meadowsweet for uselessness,” Bilbo rattled off.

Thorin’s eyebrows pinched. “I did not know flowers could be,” he paused, “that vitriolic.”

Bilbo laughed for a _third_ time. “I may make a similar bouquet for my mother after tonight.”

“Why?” Thorin asked. 

Bilbo only shook his head. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have mentioned that. Frodo, dear, are you quite finished?”

Thorin turned to see that the bouquet had been completed and wrapped while he spoke with the other man. “Ah, thank you.” He took the bouquet, looked awkwardly between the three florists and said, “Good to meet you,” and fled.

It was a whole three minutes, in which Frodo tucked Thorin’s money into the cash drawer, Sam retreated to the back and Bilbo stared out into space, before Primula arrived and dragged her favorite cousin out of his shop.

… _Eight hours later_ …

Thorin leaned on the bar of a small restaurant in Bree with a lager in hand as he waited for his date. His sister was sitting in the seat next to him and his best friend on the other side to make sure both that he showed up and didn’t bolt afterwards.

He was slightly surprised Gandalf hadn’t shown up too. The man was notorious for his matchmaking machinations. 

“Stop fidgeting,” Dis groused.

“Shut up,” he replied.

She huffed loudly and another drink. Dwalin said nothing, just watched the foam dwindle down his glass with one eye and watched the door with the other. He was the only one who knew who they were looking for, having been sent a photo by Gandalf. When the door opened and the young man stepped in, he elbowed Thorin and jerked his head in the direction of the entry.

He felt it when Thorin went entirely stiff. “Relax,” he growled. “It’s just a date.”

Thorin didn’t answer, just walked woodenly over. Bilbo looked up at him as he approached and his eyes widened in surprise. “I don’t suppose you’re here by chance?” Thorin shook his head. “Well, in that case, I certainly hope those flowers weren’t for me.” His laugh was a little too high.

Thorin shook his head. “They were supposed to be for my sister for insisting on a blind date.” He hesitated. “I may have to get different flowers now.”

Bilbo smiled. “As will I for my mother. Maybe even some for Gandalf.”

Thorin shuddered. “Don’t give him flowers, I don’t want to know what he’d do with them.”

And there was that laugh that Thorin had come to very much desire in his life in short span of time in which he’d heard it. “Let’s get a table.”

“Lead the way.”

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from _writersclub: "Flower shop AU Person A owns a flower shop and person B comes storming in one day, slaps 20 bucks on the counter and says "How do I passive-aggressively say fuck you in flowers?""
> 
> With enhancement by kochelis: "so you'd need a bouquet of geranium (stupidty), foxglove (insincerity), meadowsweet (uselessness), yellow carnations (you have disappointed me), and orange lilies (hatred). it would be quite striking and full of loathing.
> 
> With enhancement by my friend Adi: "Okay so imagine the florist looking dumbfounded and then another costumer comes for the rescue"


End file.
